


In which Tarvek has a busy morning

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: blundering onward [21]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Multi, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 08:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13737036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: It's probably good for him in the long run.





	In which Tarvek has a busy morning

Tarvek jolted awake out of vivid and restless dreams. His heart raced, a sweat chilled his skin, and he struggled to swallow a dryness in his mouth. Beyond the windows, a false dawn had traced the edges of clouds in milky hues. Beside him, Gil snored. Loudly. How Agatha slept through that noise mystified him, and yet, he didn’t think the snoring had awakened him. 

Tarvek counted his own breaths until his heart rate slowed. His fingertips trailed over skin in a mindless, automatic caress. Gil’s stomach, Agatha’s hand, Gil’s stomach again. The familiarity of the touch soothed him as much as the counting did. He had a place here, with these two remarkable people. They wanted him in their lives, in their arms, in their bed. No reservations, no regrets. His heart rate spiked upward again. 

_I’m sorry_. The words came to his mind, almost to his lips, before he had quite noticed them. Why should he apologize for anything? Wasn’t Gil the one who managed to sprawl out and take up half a bed meant for more than three people?

But he knew. The taste of memories lingered from his dreams, thick like smoke, metallic like blood, and he knew. The past called to him. More than anything, he wanted to close his eyes, to clap his hands over his ears, to shut it out. He would do no such thing. 

Reluctantly, Tarvek eased himself out of the safe warmth of Gil’s embrace. He leaned over to brush his lips across the back of Agatha’s hand, and then, careful not to wake either of them, he stood. Faint light filtered in through the windows. It was far too early for this nonsense. 

It was the perfect time for this nonsense. 

He dressed himself, and he stole out of the master suite without disturbing his sleeping lovers. A small victory, but important. His hands in his pockets, he hurried down to his own room. The Castle kept silent while he retrieved what he needed, so it hardly surprised him when he descended a staircase only to find an entire landing occupied. Two of the cultists scrambled about, cleaning that big bust of Franz Scorchmaw that the Castle liked to move about just to startle people. 

The cultists stopped their work when they saw him. He bade them good morning. Alina gave him a crisp nod and returned to her work. Olga stared. Following the direction of her gaze, Tarvek flicked his tongue across the fresh bruise on his lip. The cultists considered the damage a sign of the Heterodyne’s favor, and he wouldn’t tell them if it had been Gil’s teeth that had carelessly raked his flesh. If he even remembered. 

“Any word about the sinister bread?” he asked Alina. Still silent, she shook her head. “I’ll ask Hadrian if his people can look into it.”

Alina’s cheeks flushed a bit. Filing that information for later, Tarvek continued on his way. 

Mechanicsburg lay sleepy in the early morning. A few people bustled about, mostly preparing to open various businesses for the day. The handful of Jägers loafing on street corners no doubt had not yet been to sleep. Tarvek smiled, but he avoided them, clinging to the shadows as silvery hues seeped through the sky. He walked for a while without knowing his destination, feeling the familiar weight in his pocket, trusting his feet to lead the way, but when he arrived, he knew nowhere but the catacombs would suit. 

He wandered the Crypt of the Heterodynes for a while, taking time to read each inscription, even those belonging to the devils of his childhood stories. Eventually, he settled himself in the only possible place, at the grave of Klaus Barry Heterodyne. 

“I’m expecting the two of you to get along,” he said in a tone of mock warning as he took the tiny portrait from his pocket. He set it at the corner of the stone, and he placed a candle close beside it, at that particular angle that caused the play of light and shadows to make it look as though Anevka smiled at him. 

Tarvek thought of his troubled dreams, still distracting him in fragments of memory. He drew a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then he said, “Anevka, I’m getting married.”

Yes, that’s what had been bothering him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts a little more with each passing day. He wanted to get married, wanted it more than anything, but he wanted his sister to see it. All he had was a portrait. 

His voice hushed, scarcely more than a whisper, he told her about it. He told her everything. How he had found a home in Mechanicsburg—Mechanicsburg, of all places! How Gil—remember Gil?—really did love him, and so did Agatha, and nothing could be more wonderful than that. He told her about Vanamonde and Hadrian, about the Jägers and the Castle. He told her how one of the bakers in town had started making  _pain au chocolat_  just because he liked it. He talked until his voice went dry and his eyes burned. 

Exhausted at last, he knelt over the portrait as he always did, longing for absolution.  _I should have protected you_. Not that he hadn’t tried, but of course he could have done better. He’d been young and foolish then, and nothing could take that back. 

Tarvek emerged from the catacombs to find daylight gilding the rooftops. The town stumbled blearily to life around him, and an old man gave him a friendly nod. 

“This is a strange place for you to be,” said Carson von Mekkhan. 

“Is it?” Tarvek let the portrait fall back into his pocket. He looked around, and he frowned. “Were you waiting for me?”

Carson chuckled. “Young man,  _nothing_  goes in or out of these crypts without my knowing about it.” He took Tarvek’s elbow in a surprisingly strong grip and steered him back toward the Castle. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with a little ancestor worship.”

“No, that’s not—not scientific,” Tarvek blurted, just stopping himself from saying why he had been down amongst the dead. Carson grinned at him. 

“Of course not. We do it anyway.”

“We?” Tarvek repeated, beginning to feel baffled. This man was Vanamonde’s grandfather, and that explained so much. 

Carson von Mekkhan gestured vaguely at the entire city. “People. We venerate the dead in so many ways, and most of us hardly notice we’re doing it.” He gave a wry chuckle. “At my age, that’s a bit comforting.” His eyes narrowed, and his laugh faded. “Which grave did you visit?”

All of them. None of them. “Klaus Barry’s,” Tarvek said, managing a lie and the truth at the same time. 

Carson nodded. “That’s good,” he said, as though everything made perfect sense. Before Tarvek could ask what he meant by that, the old man changed the subject, launching with surprising vigor into a discussion of the upcoming wedding. Tarvek found himself smiling. 

Carson von Mekkhan walked with Tarvek all the way back to the Castle, turning away at the doorstep. Tarvek felt a little lighter with every step, and when they parted ways, he almost envied Vanamonde. Probably not the best idea, he decided, and he headed inside. 

Castle Heterodyne delivered him to Agatha immediately. In the middle of both breakfast and a lively debate with Violetta, she stopped to look at him as though he may be on the menu. Perfectly aware of his own idiotic grin, Tarvek meandered over to help himself to a cup of coffee. 

Agatha and Violetta resumed their conversation. Tarvek lingered nearby, sipping his coffee and lightly touching his thumb to the underside of his finger. Soon he would have a ring there, a ring of Agatha’s choosing, an outward sign that he belonged to her. Everything as it should be. 

Violetta caught him in his reverie, and she mouthed a single word at him:  _Gross_. Tarvek grinned across his coffee at her. As much as Violetta supported his impending marriage, she did like to tease him about it, and he gave as good as he got. He sidled closer to Agatha. 

“Is Gil still taking up the entire bed?” Tarvek flirted shamelessly, his eyes half-lidded, his fingertips dancing up Agatha’s arm. Behind her lady’s shoulder, Violetta made a gagging motion. 

“I have no idea how he does it.”

“Hmm. Perhaps we should make a study of it. Scientific.” Tarvek swirled the coffee in his cup. “‘Unconscious Expansion: the Tendency of a Sleeping Wulfenbach to Fill Any Given Space.’”

Agatha’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I dare you to publish that.”

“'Sturmvoraus, et al’?” Tarvek grinned at her. “I certainly can’t name the Castle as a research assistant.”

“Sturmvoraus-Wulfenbach?” Knowing perfectly well the effect her words would have, Agatha gave him a wicked little smirk. Tarvek struggled for breath, struggled to calm the wild pounding of his heart, and failed at not flushing as crimson as his hair. Violetta mimed being violently ill. 

“Well,” he managed at last. “We shall see.” While Agatha and Violetta resumed their conversation, Tarvek busied himself piling a plate high with pastries, chilled roast, and an unreasonable amount of cheese. He had nearly escaped with the small mountain of food when Agatha turned toward him again. 

“He takes up space enough for four people, and you’re going to reward him?”

Catching the humor in her voice, Tarvek agreed. “He hasn’t earned it, but he does need fuel.” He glanced toward Violetta, and he reconsidered. Perhaps he should insist that Gil  _had_  earned a reward, and he had the bruises to prove it. “How am I going to experiment on him if I don’t keep him fed?” he said instead. 

Agatha pursed her lips. “We should plan the experiment.” She had no intention of doing actual science. 

Violetta made good use of her Smoke Knight training and vanished, taking half of the coffee tray with her. 

Agatha captured the remaining coffee for Gil. Grinning, she grabbed Tarvek’s hand, and together they raced back to the master suite, laughing most of the way. They threw open the door and rushed inside. 

The bed was empty. 

Tarvek set the plate down on a side table and glanced around the room. Sheets on the floor, shoes under the bed, the bathroom door slightly ajar. He met Agatha’s gaze and nodded toward the bathroom just as the door swung open. Gil emerged, one towel slung around his hips, another in his hand. He stopped scrubbing at his hair when he saw them. 

Tarvek pretended to swoon. “I’m powerless against a damp Gilgamesh!”

“My bathroom,” Agatha said, stepping between the two of them. “My damp Gilgamesh. Coffee?”

Gil hesitated. He glanced between the two of them, trying to work out what new game this was. He took the coffee. “Isn’t there enough of me to share?”

Agatha ran her hand up Gil’s chest. “That’s what I like to hear.” They kissed, and Tarvek found himself leaning forward, craving a touch, a taste. He stayed where he stood, watching, listening to the blood rushing in his ears. 

When Agatha let Gil breathe again, Tarvek saw something that made his knees buckle. He fumbled for the edge of the bed, and he sat. 

Agatha stood with her hand still resting on Gil’s chest, giving him an amused smile as he gulped the entire cup of coffee. She might as well have held the morning sun in that smile. Gil stood completely at ease, damp and magnificent and barely covered by that one towel. His free hand relaxed at his side, except…

Except for the way his thumb played across his ring finger. 

Tarvek found the strength to beckon to his lovers. Agatha tugged Gil along with her, and in a moment they stood over him. The gentlest touch from Agatha tilted Tarvek’s face upward, and she kissed him, driving the last of the cobwebs and shadows from his thoughts. 

Let the past lie. Let the future come when it would. The present was pretty damn great.


End file.
